Charlie
by Xintendation 360
Summary: Charlie, the comic relief. The misunderstood recovering junkie. The disrespected has been. It's difficult to understand his feelings unless you get into his head.... Rated T for safety.


Charlie: Chapter 1

**This fic strays from my normal style—humor, but whatever. I don't know whether or not I'm a Charlie**_** fan**_**, but I sympathize with him.**

Locke punched him. Hard.

Charlie was in utter shock as he fell to the ground. If that wasn't enough, the tide came in and attacked him as well.

He looked up at Claire and Locke. Did they realize the pain that he felt? It made him angry.

Why was Locke even there in the first place? Who did he think he was? The protector of the island? Charlie was trying to apologize to Locke when he decided to inflict pain on him.

Charlie then looked at everyone else who had crowded around to watch his disgrace. They all just left him. No compassion for Charlie. Nobody cares about Charlie.

As everyone left, Charlie let himself fall back. What did everybody think of him as? The junkie? Nobody understood him. Nobody understood that he didn't want to be what he was.

His mind began to wander back to the memory that was most vivid in his mind lately. The last time he considered himself a junkie…

He was sitting back on his airline seat, tapping at the end of the armrest. His objective, get through the flight.

He was trying to think of anything but that lump in his shoe. What was he going to do when he got to Los Angeles? Book a hotel, eat, get to work.

If only he could finish the flight. He could minimize the risk of getting caught if he could get out of the airport.

He then caught himself. He was thinking about it again. He gave up and ran for the bathroom.

He looked at each person that stared at him as he ran by. He couldn't help but think that they all knew what he was doing.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he wasn't alarmed when the plane rumbled. He continued to run down the aisle, glad that the flight attendants that had been trailing him had stopped.

He reached a bathroom and locked the door. He thought he was safe for a moment, until he realized that the flight staff had returned, and were pounding on the door.

But Charlie had made it. While he was doing what he was doing, he felt guilty, no matter how much he tried to justify what he was doing with his health. He didn't want to do what he was doing, but even more, he wanted to.

Already, he regretted what he had done. How was he ever going to stop if he continued to do this? It frustrated him.

Suddenly, the plane began to rumble again. Charlie once again ignored it until he found that his feet were no longer touching to floor.

He realized that something was wrong with the plane, and regretted what he had done. He just had to get a fix.

He quickly opened the bathroom door and began to make his way to his seat. His mind rushed with thoughts.

'_What if I die today?'_ He thought. His mind turned to his brother, _'If I die, he'll never see me recover. He'll never know I wanted to stop. He'll think of me as the junkie.'_

Charlie didn't want this to happen. He pressed on, moving even faster to his seat. He desperately fastened his seatbelt, and put his mask on.

Charlie woke up. The first thing he noticed was a loud, high-pitched whine, accompanied by screaming. He sat up.

So he was alive. He didn't die with everybody thinking of him as the junkie.

This was when he made the decision to stop. Once he was off what appeared to be an island, he would do what it took to stop.

Sure, he did end up taking his drugs later, but he intended not to, overall. No more would he think of when he would do drugs, because he didn't plan to anymore.

But nobody understood that. Everybody just turned their backs as he sat there on the beach, wet and bruised. Locke must have felt proud of himself, hitting him like that.

No one cared about Charlie any more. He was just the comic relief of the island, the one that nobody respects.

No compassion was shown for this struggling drug addict. He was left out in the cold, heartbroken and scarred. If anyone knew what was going on in Charlie's mind, they would rush to his side and help him up, maybe give a kind word or two. But nobody understood him.

Nobody understood that he was trying.

**(A/N: What do you think? If you like the way I'm going here, I can continue this format in another chapter, maybe one a bit less depressing.)**


End file.
